Disconnect
by Snowdon King
and if the server crashed
would I still be a poet?
and if the Internet crashed suddenly
in the whole wide world
who’s going to ever hear of me?
I would like a law
to forbid poetry in public
to have to go in specially designed places
with a pencil and a piece of paper
to write only for myself
as if my poem were
an engagement ring
a vow for love
I’ve been hurting my soul
on a piece of paper
in a puddle of words
you call it clichee
a hole
or a whole lot of nothing
while poetry is
a crosswalk
between life and death
or a wild boar chased by bullets
in a pristine forest
My writing is not
a simple pastime
but a dedication for God
Who sometimes puts his palm
on your forehead
Woman
even if Life is a hospital
where people treat you
with drops of Indifference
while Death counts souls
if the Internet crashed
I would walk barefeet in the dust
to feel the cold body of my ancestors
or I would shave my head
so that nobody notices
how beautifully it snows
I would stop this talking
(a whole lot of nothing)
and I would kick you
where it hurts the most
to prove you
how much I love you
I was born on Google
everybody knows
and I endlessly seek
a place
to confess
(translator – Ioana Tirtirau)
